Sunlight in the Garden
by Lyrastales
Summary: Pomona hasn't seen Neville since he was a baby, but the moment he steps into her greenhouse, the past begins chasing her down.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This was written for the 2013 round of HP_beholder, held on . I am posting each section here as a separate chapter, and should have the whole thing up in a day or two. Thank you to livejournal users teenagehustler, secondsilk and author_by_night for beta-reading. If you read this, I hope you enjoy!

Pomona spots Alice's son the instant she enters the greenhouse. Alice's hair used to be just that shade of pine; her lips that exact bow shape. Alice sat in this very room, eyes alight with curiosity and mischief - and later, with desire.

She hasn't seen him since he was a baby. Even when she visited St Mungo's weekly, Saturdays were her day; Sundays were Augusta's. When she thought of him, it was as an extension of Augusta, and thereby of Frank, rather than as Alice's son. Only as he stumbled toward the Sorting Hat, and then stumbled away still wearing it, did she admit it to herself. He is Alice's son; he is part of her.

He's a Gryffindor, of course. Brought up by Augusta, he wouldn't dare be anything else. Even Alice could be cowed by Augusta Longbottom.

She doesn't speak to Neville in lessons that first week, but on the Saturday afternoon, she visits Alice for the first time in months.

What this actually means is that she visits Alice-and-Frank, because in the years since their torture they have been reduced to a single unit. Nobody at St Mungo's ever seems to consider that they might once have had separate lives, friends, interests. Lovers.

So Pomona is shown to the double cubicle. The curtains are pulled around for privacy and she hands over her wares: the colouring book that Frank likes, and some chewing gum and an illustrated botany book for Alice. Frank takes his cue along with the coloured pencils and bends to his task, leaving Pomona with Alice.

"I've got Neville in my classes this year."

Alice glances up from her book but her expression does not change.

"Seems a good little lad. Bit shy, but school'll knock that out of him soon enough." Or the reverse, but Pomona will do her utmost to prevent that from happening.

She talks until she can stand it no longer - not because she wants to but because hope compels her beyond all reason. Alice is gone. She knows this. So why, whenever she visits, does she watch for any sign that the situation might be changing?

"I'm sorry," she says finally, and realises this is why she came. "I should have kept an eye on him. I should have done it for you, but I just couldn't. It hurt too much. I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

Unwilling to face Hogwarts just yet, she holes up in the back seat of the Knight Bus, beset by memories. Alice when she was just Neville's age, shyness dissolving as she explores the greenhouse. Alice sitting her OWLs, informing the examiner of several new applications for shrivelfigs. Alice coming to say goodbye on a July afternoon, and to announce that she is joining the Aurors.

Pomona remembers the ache that surprised her then. The world is full of promising Herbology students who never value their talent or the discipline. Why should Alice be different?

"I've been looking at the syllabus," Alice says, frowning, "and it seems a bit patchy. No mention of Herbology at all."

Pomona takes refuge in the brisk tone that always serves her in times of stress. "Unfortunately, my dear, Herbology isn't generally recognised as having much of a role to play in combat or other matters relating to the Aurors."

They share a wry look.

"Well, I intend to change that," Alice says and shakes Pomona's hand. Her own is soft but strong and, Pomona knows, capable of taming the most obstinate mandrake or the fiercest geranium. Her smile lights a candle in Pomona's heart even now, as she hunches in the corner of the bus, arms cradling her memories. "I'll see you soon, Professor."

She is true to her word. And that, of course, is where it all begins.

Begins. Began. Pomona can't get her tenses straight. Since Neville stepped tentatively into her greenhouse, the past has been chasing her down.


	3. Chapter 3

"You've got your mother's green thumb," Pomona tells Neville at the start of his second year, when it's clear that his part in last year's Gryffindor House Cup victory has been forgotten. He is back to square one with his schoolmates: overlooked, condescended to and, she suspects, bullied.

"I know," he answers gloomily. "Gran always says I'll never take after my dad."

Shame on you, Augusta. Shame on you for belittling a good woman - a clever, gorgeous, and bloody sexy woman - because she married your Frank. Shame on you for making this gentle boy feel inadequate when you've given him idealised shoes to fill. Pomona remembers Frank well; he was just an ordinary boy, like Neville here, doing his best with what he had. For a moment, she imagines Owling Augusta to say exactly that.

She won't, of course. She and Augusta have rarely seen eye-to-eye over anything. Why should Neville be any different?


	4. Chapter 4

Alice comes to her on a Saturday as the daffodils are coming into bloom, full of the Aurors, of the strict regimes the trainees have to follow. With her unruly hair and dishevelled robes, she looks the opposite of regimented.

"Oh, I know," Alice admits when Pomona says so, and tucks a strand back into her ponytail. "But it's good for me. I've always been a bit of a mess."

No, you're beautiful, Pomona thinks, and that's when she knows her feelings have crossed a line.

Alice is here for an extra-curricular project: identifying the uses to which Herbology can be put in the defence of the realm. She visits every Saturday afternoon, and together she and Pomona thrash out ideas, tackle some of the feistier plants, and make notes.

"I hope they're paying you well for this," Pomona says after a messy encounter with a leaping toadstool.

"No," answers Alice, wiping her hands on her robes. "I just need to show them I'm right."

By August, by the flowering of the snapdragons, Alice has enough information. Pomona thinks she has enough for a thesis, but as Alice says over their customary cup of tea, "It's the Ministry, so you really have to hit them over the head with it if you want them to take notice."

Pomona doesn't answer. She has felt this day approaching; has considered further excuses for meeting, and is wondering whether she dares broach one.

"Thank you," Alice says, and leans forward. They are in the little sitting room off Greenhouse Six, and the armchairs are suddenly uncomfortable: both too far apart and not distant enough. "I really am grateful for all your help."

"Oh..." Pomona gathers her thoughts. "You're very welcome, my dear."

"No." Alice leans again, her hair tumbling forward over her shoulder. "You've given me your Saturdays for all this time, and really, there was nothing in it for you."

"The least I could do for such a noble cause," Pomona says, but when she meets Alice's gaze she does not feel noble at all.

She's almost relieved when Alice stands to go, certain she is betraying herself with every look, every too-careful movement. But as she reaches for the door handle, Alice's hand closes over her fingers and she steps close. Pomona turns; Alice's eyes are bright, her lips pursed with awareness of what she is about to do.

As Pomona takes a breath, Alice bobs forward like a bird and kisses her. And as she opens her mouth, Alice lays a finger over it. "Don't," she says. "If you want this, please, just don't say a word."


	5. Chapter 5

Pomona does protest, eventually. She may no longer be Alice's professor, but she is still the elder and more experienced. She knows how these things can go.

"I'm too old for you," she says into Alice's shoulder one languorous afternoon, with the rain trailing down window panes that are already misted on the inside. "I could be your mother."

Alice laughs and Pomona considers Alice's mother, an ethereal Pole who fled Grindelwald's party for London in the Forties. "Well, perhaps not your imother/i," she says. "But I'm her age or thereabouts. Probably older."

"Yes?" Alice kisses Pomona's forehead and wriggles down so that they are face to face. "What of it?"

iYou won't want me forever./i Too pathetic, so she edits: "You might want to be with someone your own age."

Alice kisses her and hooks her slim leg over Pomona's heftier one, reviving all those nerve-endings that were so recently tingling with pleasure. Pomona sighs and squeezes her closer, but she forces herself to continue.

"You might get tired of this - all the secrecy, the sneaking around."

Alice's hand slides across Pomona's belly, coming to rest between her thighs. "How could I get tired when the benefits are so...beautiful?"

Pomona's legs open in obedience to the pressure. God, she can't get enough of this. It must be a decade, maybe more, since she's enjoyed herself this much in bed.

"You...you might want children," she says breathlessly, and Alice's hand stills.

"Well," she says, eyes on Pomona's mouth, "I do want children at some point."

Pomona waits.

"But I'll deal with that when I come to it." She kisses Pomona, who, having said her piece, is content to be silenced.


	6. Chapter 6

The castle is shrouded in a sense of approaching doom during Neville's third year. Sirius Black is on the loose - and on the hunt, if the rumours are to be believed.

Pomona watches Remus Lupin watching Harry, as she is watching Neville. Remus is struggling, too, although as far as she knows, there was nothing improper about his relationship with James and Lily Potter. Or was there? Surely not: Remus, the buttoned up, too-good prefect...although he did like to be led astray. She always suspected that he didn't dare misbehave in case Dumbledore changed his mind and threw him out because of what he was. So he was easy to talk into mischief and twice as good at it. Much more convincing than young Sirius ever was.

She suppresses a shiver and turns back to Neville. He's too pale; she should speak to Minerva about it. Of course, it was stupid of him to write down those passwords, but everyone knows his memory isn't what it could be - and the possible reason why. Neville has enough to deal with without being maligned by an influential teacher.

_You old softie_, Alice murmurs, and Pomona closes her eyes. If she doesn't think too hard, she can almost feel Alice's breath on the back of her neck; Alice's strong thumbs working their way down her back. It's as if the past is coming for her, and she almost welcomes it.


	7. Chapter 7

"I think I've found a solution for the baby thing," Alice announces. It's their Saturday; they've finished in bed - for now - and are raking out the fanged geraniums.

Pomona glances across the table. Alice has taken to dropping 'the baby thing' into the conversation like a small grenade, as if seeing what it will do. Pomona will not fuss; she will not push. So she waits, until Alice continues: "You remember Frank Longbottom?"

Pomona frowns and then she has him: Alice's year, large, gentle, unassuming. Now she comes to think of it, Alice has mentioned him before, hasn't she? Is he perhaps on her course?

"Yes," she answers. "A nice boy, if I remember rightly."

Alice edges around the table to grasp Pomona's hand. "How would you feel if I had a baby with Frank?"

The world is falling away, all around her. "If that's what you want," she says.

Alice squeezes her hand, hard. "Pomona," she says, "oh, my dear."

"I understand." She forces a smile. "I wanted a child once, you know. I never had the opportunity, but I won't stand in your way."

Alice is shaking her head. "I didn't mean it like that. God, Pomona, if I was going to break up with you and fall in love with a man, I wouldn't spring it on you like this."

Pomona turns and aims her wand at a weed beneath the nearest geranium, which snaps at her with infant fangs. "Then what exactly do you mean?"

"I want a child," Alice says, her gaze flickering away and back. "Maybe more than one. But I don't want to change anything with you, either."

This isn't quite true. As the seasons have turned, she has dropped hints about moving into Pomona's cottage in Hogsmeade. Plenty of women share accommodation and nobody thinks anything of it. But there's the baby thing.

"Frank isn't...isn't interested in women." Considering what she was doing to Pomona not half an hour ago, it's amazing that Alice blushes, but she does. "He likes - well, you know. But his mother's a bit of a Tartar, and she's starting to get onto Frank about carrying on his lineage. A well-respected family, and all that."

"So..." Pomona prompts.

"So...Frank and I get married. Give Mrs Longbottom an heir to dote on. And we carry on as we are. Frank carries on as he is."

"But you'll have a child."

"Yes." Alice makes no attempt to veil the joyous light in her eyes. "I know it won't be quite as simple as that. I know what children do to people - I've seen enough of my friends, the way they become consumed by the whole thing." She squeezes Pomona's hand again. "But please, Pomona, this seems like the perfect chance for everyone to get what they want. We can Apparate between our homes, and it'll almost be easier than it is now, because there'll be Frank and the baby."

Only Alice could think of a baby as being 'easy'. But Pomona will not be the one to destroy her dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

_He's an excellent Herbology student._ She can hear herself now, saying the words that placed Neville in Barty Crouch's trap.

"I'm so sorry," she says, holding Alice's thin hand in hers. "And Frank." She turns to him. "I failed you. I was trying to keep an eye on him, and instead I handed him..." She stops herself just in time.

Did Barty Crouch torture Neville when he was a baby? What sick perversions crossed his mind while he gave Neville tea and told him about his parents?

"I'll do better," Pomona promises, and squeezes Alice's fingers. "I'll look after him from now on - I'll make sure he's all right."

It feels little better than a lie. Voldemort has broken the laws of life and death; how can she be sure of anything?


	9. Chapter 9

Just like that, Alice and Frank are married; just like that, Alice is pregnant; just like that, Neville is born.

He's an easy baby. Pomona is starting to wonder if Alice's life is charmed, because everything goes the way she wants it to. Even Augusta, suspicious and disapproving of the hasty marriage, seems to warm to Alice and tolerate Pomona after the birth.

But Alice's charmed life can't withstand full-scale war.

An autumn evening, the fire crackling in the grate, Frank mixing G&Ts in the kitchen. Neville stumbles from the coffee table to the armchair, hands out to steady himself, while Alice and Pomona call encouragement from the sofa.

Pomona is their secret keeper; the one good aspect of their clandestine relationship is that nobody suspects her. Augusta, yes - Edgar Bones or Mad-Eye Moody, perhaps. Even Dumbledore. But Pomona Sprout, Herbology Professor?

Frank hands out the drinks and squats for Neville to totter into his arms. Alice leans on Pomona's shoulder and Pomona smiles.

"My little hero," Alice murmurs, stretching a drowsy arm toward Neville. "You're going to be a hero one day."

It's a dangerous world, especially if you're a wizard. More so if you're an Auror; even more so if you're Alice and Frank, or James and Lily Potter. But here, now, they are safe.


End file.
